Blog

  • Apple Pickin’

    Apple picking is hokey, corny, and a sad excuse for city people to play farmer. We drive way out to the country to go to a “farm” and then pay to pick apples, which half of them will rot in our homes as we try to figure out what to do with 10 lbs. of apples.

    I have a fraught relationship with apple picking, but after nine years of it, I have come to love this part of our Fall tradition.

    The first time I went a’pickin’ was when the kid was a baby, and the “farm” was this almost amusement-park-of-a-place why out in the sticks of New Jersey. It took like thirty minutes to get into the place, the parking was so bad. The line for tickets was long, and then when you got in the joint, all the trees had been picked over. (There were pony rides!) And leaving the place took an hour. It was like leaving a rock concert, but with way more produce. I felt silly being there, like I was being conned.

    The next time I went was when my parents came to visit New York, and were staying upstate, as they were traveling in a motorhome. My wonderful wife found an orchard not too far from where my folks were staying. That was a way more enjoyable experience. It wasn’t crowded, lots of apples, a large orchard to wander around, and most importantly, the kid had a good time. With the exception of the Covid Years, we have gone back to the apple farm year after year.

    And as each year goes by, I start looking forward to it, more and more. It has become our tradition, and an activity that we can yardstick our year, and also gage how much the kid has grown and changed. It’s also the gateway into Autumn for us, as the drive takes us out of the City and into the woods of small town upstate. The changing leaves, and Halloween decorations sprinkled about every corner. Maybe it wasn’t as cool as it was last year, and the leaves were more yellow than any other color… but Fall had arrived for our family.

    Which also included the dog.

    (The dog was totes ready for some apple pickin’)

  • ODDS and ENDS: That’s Some Good Sentencing, Rewatching Baking Show, and Red Pants

    (I think I’m starting to peak now, Al…)

    Do you know who Tina Peters is? Long story short, she was a MAGA county clerk in Colorado who help a person break into Dominion voting machines after the 2020 election. She has been unrepentant in her actions, has even become a semi-celebrity in ultra-conservative conspiracy circles. Well, she got put on trial for the crime of breaking into voting machines, was found guilty in August, and was sentenced the other day. Below is the video of the judge sentencing her, and also laying out a very good case of why these conspiracies and the people who propagate them are extremely dangerous to our democracy.

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    So, the new season of Great British Baking Show started last week, and I may or may not write more about this season. Or I may wait until it’s all over with to write about it, or I might not write about it at all. Either way, for me and the wife, the lead up to the new season means that we go through and watch the past seasons. Funny the things we remember and the things we forget. The one thing that I remember and never changes is that Sandi Toksvig was the best host of that show, hands down and unquestioned. But the things we forget, like who won, and who made it to the finals, we very often misremember (is that a word?) those details. I would have to say that I am 50% when it comes to remembering who won a season, or who got voted out on a certain episode. But I will never forget the awful mispronunciation of the word “taco.” Paul kept calling it a “Tack-oh.”

    I now have a pair of pants whose color name is “Nantucket Red.” (I am aware that Nantucket Red is a specific type of pant from Murray’s Toggery Shop in Nantucket, and what I am referring to is a pair of red pants I got in a thrift shop a month ago, but the tag called the pant color by that name.) I like the pants because they fit well, and go with several shirts that I own. Yes, there is a WASP-ness to the pants, which I feel I pull off ironicy. But at the end of the day, they are a pair of red pants, which can feel like a bold step for a person as modest as me. The only other guy I knew who proudly had a pair of red pants was the comedian/improv performer down in the Lower East Side. He was funny enough for a guy who was 22, right out of college, and trying to make their way in NYC. And his thing was the red pants. He always had the red pants on, and would tell people he always wore these red pants. I took it to mean that he wore the pants when he was out performing, like a costume. No, his girlfriend confirmed that he wore the pants all the time. He even wore them in the shower to “wash” them, she said. I still think it was a bit.

  • Lost Night of Sleep

    We had a rough night of sleep. More like, we had a rough night of not sleeping.

    I’m a night owl, and if I had my choice, I would stay a night owl forever! But, I’m not twenty-four anymore, and as I have more things to live for, and as get closer to my death and further from my birth, I am starting to take my health more seriously. In that regard, I am trying to get more sleep to help regulate my body, or whatever it is that my doctor told me I needed to do to lose weight, and live for a long time.

    I have been making progress. I got one of those health apps on my phone, and I have noticed that I am moving from five hours of sleep, to very closely to getting six hours of sleep. The goal is seven, and if one day comes and I get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, I might actually be dead.

    Then last night, we had a rough one.

    My daughter normally is a great sleeper. Like, she’s out in five minutes after hitting the pillow. In fact, she’s always been like that, even as a baby. We had very few nights where she was cranky and wouldn’t sleep. It was a blessing that we were very grateful to receive. Yet, last night wasn’t her night.

    See, she had a test this morning at school, and even though she’s an A+ student and on top of all her school work, tests do make her very anxious. So, before bed, we talked about her feelings, what she was nervous about, what she hoped would happen. All the normal steps we take when she has a very important day in the morning. And after we put her to bed, she was back up in about ten minutes. We did the same thing again, and talked through all of her feelings, making sure she knew we were here to support her no matter what happened, and also building up her confidence for taking the test.

    She was down for about an hour, and then she got up again, but this time she was sleep walking. This is also a normal reaction that she has when there is a big day ahead of her. Usually, we can gently get her back into bed. But last night, she was up three more times, and with each occurrence, she was angrier and angrier. And each time, we remained calm, got her back into bed, and tried to sooth her to sleep. The final episode was at 1am, and I have to be up at 5:30 to get our family going.

    And she was tired this morning when I got her up, but she had no memory of the night before. She remembers getting up the first time, but nothing else. I don’t believe that the kid is trying to deceive me, I don’t think she was lying. I know that the best thing to do in these situations is not to draw too much attention to the night before, and make her feel guilty. It happened, and we are all okay, and we are all here to support each other.

    On the way to school this morning, she was bubbly, and said she was ready for her test. Then we ran into a friend, and the two of them talked Percy Jackson books, and summer camps. I guess she’s okay; I mean, I won’t know till after school. She seems okay, but sometimes that isn’t always the truth.

  • Short Story Review: “Stories About Us” by Lore Segal

    (The short story “Stories About Us” by Lore Segal appeared in the October 7th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Marta Monteiro

    I love Lore Segal’s writing. And when I say that, I fully admit that I am referring to her short stories that I have read in The New Yorker. (I really need to pick up one of her novels.) I love how her short stories don’t fit neatly in any box, are elusive like trying to grasp smoke, and no matter how serious or melancholy a piece or section of a piece might be, her work leaves me feeling better, more affirming towards life.

    What is “Stories About Us,” about? I’m still not sure. I guess you could say that it five short vignettes about older women who live in New York, and talk to each other about their lives…

    “Stories About Us,” is also about being validated, being seen, being missed, the contradictions in life, inclusion as an act of grace, and the past that still lives with us.

    What I like about Segal’s writing, and this story in particular is that at the first read, I wasn’t sure what was going on, and then I thought about it, and I concluded that I knew what was going on. And then I re-read it this morning, and I’m not sure I really know what’s going on, but I’m okay with that. There is an undisputed piece of truth in each one of the sections, that is wonderful to discover, like a flower opening up. And in quick secession, Segal lets us see the thinking and insights of these characters; women who are complicated and vulnerable, having lived lives, and still want to keep exploring and experiencing. I can’t explain how Segal does it, but there is an ebb and flow to each section, working together like a piece of music, landing on a touching yet unsettling denouement.

    “Stories About Us” is a very fine work, that I might never be able to pinpoint exactly why I enjoy it so much. It also makes me think that’s why Lore Segal is Lore Segal; her writing is like music. I can say why it moves me, it just moves me when I hear it.

  • Parent/Teacher Day

    It’s Parent/Teacher Day and my kid’s school!

    You know who’s excited about Parent/Teacher Day? My daughter! She dressed me up for it. She wanted me in a sportscoat, and I was happy to oblige her. Instead of having this meeting at night, which I feel is normal for most schools, our school decided to hold this meeting in the day, so the parents could see the kids… you know, in their natural environment?

    For the record, anytime the Parent/Teacher Meeting comes up, I tell the kid that if she’s good, she will get pizza for dinner, and if she’s bad then it’s poison. Then she saw that episode of The Simpsons, and now she gets my joke. She also thinks I’m not that original.

    The meeting was fine. The kids were well behaved, and I like the kid’s teachers as they do a very good job, and the kid loves them. We were shown the progress they have made in their subjects, and what we can do as parents to help them with their school work. All in all, it was a cute hour to spend at her school.

    As I was leaving the school, just walking down the street, I had one of those moments where it washed over me how much “parent” defines my life. Most days I don’t feel like a parent, more like a pretend parent making it up as I go. I am aware that most other parents feel the same way, and in fact, the world is made up of half-assed adults faking their way through parenthood. (It really is a wonder that human civilization has developed as well as it has, being that everyone is faking it…) But on a day like today, I felt like “I am parent,” instead of “I’m trying to be a parent.” That doesn’t mean I feel confident as a parent, just that “I am” one.

    Does that make sense?